A Darkness Greater Than Light
by The Brickster
Summary: A fictional story set after the events of Knights of the Old Republic.
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: **All characters, technologies, planets, and creatures are based off of LucasArts' _Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic_ and other Star Wars related material and are therefore property of LucasArts and LucasFilm. The story is my own creation. Do not plagiarize or create any spin-offs on my story without my express consent. To do otherwise would result in the Dark Side corrupting you and leaving you as bantha fodder for the Jedi. Do not underestimate the power of the Force.** Chapter One 

HK-47 raised his Mandalorian assault rifle and aimed it out the broken window. The distant rumble of artillery fire did nothing to disturb his precise concentration. His enhanced aural receptors picked up the sounds of the ancient structure creaking around him.

He calculated that he only had a few minutes until the building collapsed around him, or the artillery zeroed in on his position. He put his photoreceptor to the rifle sight and picked out his target. The high-level government official had no idea his life was about to end in a few short seconds.

HK-47 tracked the official's vehicle as it slowly headed for the spaceport. HK-47 upped the zoom on the scope and steadied the rifle with the crosshairs directly on the man's head. He waited just three seconds longer and depressed the trigger.

Five blocks away, the planetary governor of Corellia collapsed in his luxury groundcar with a small hole smoking in his temple.

Darth Revan meditated on his flagship, the _Leviathan_. His face, scarred by the Dark Side of the Force, was hidden by a full mask and a black cloak infused with the dark power of the Star Forge hung on his small frame. Orbiting the former Republic planet of Corellia, the _Leviathan_ bombarded the planet into submission. Of course, when word of the governor's death got out, there would be no need to ruin any more of his future capital. As this thought crossed his mind, his personal comm unit beeped softly. He already knew what the call was about, but he wanted to hear it said. He unhooked the comm unit and spoke into it.

"Is it done?" he said in a dark whisper. There was a pause and some static.

"It is done," a synthetic voice replied.

"You have done well HK-47. Your ship is waiting nearby. I'd appreciate it if you didn't get yourself destroyed on the way up."

"Of course, master. Those meatbags wouldn't dare challenge a ship of the Sith Empire," the assassin droid laughed coldly. The transmission ended. Revan sat still until he could no longer contain his evil laughter. A lieutenant stepped into the meditation chamber bearing news about Corellia's surrender. He stopped, worried that something was wrong with his master. But nothing could ruin Revan's good mood right now. Nothing.

Carth Onasi lay semi-conscious on a sandy beach on an unnamed world. His water-deprived brain wondered vaguely if anyone was looking for him. But how could anyone, seeing as no one knew he was here? No one, he reminded himself, except Revan. And Bastila. Those damned traitors. First Saul, then Dustil, and finally the two people he had been closest to five years ago. And they had killed Mission and Zaalbar. The Twi'lek's shattered body lay under a pile of rocks and sand nearby with her Wookie friend lying next to her where he had fallen trying to stop Revan from killing Mission. He had seen it all from the cliff above. Once the _Ebon Hawk_ had lifted off on it's mission of destruction, he had climbed back down, buried the bodies, and wandered off in search of food and shelter. Now here he was lying on the warm sand trying hard not to die.

Formless shapes hovered above him speaking a language at once familiar yet foreign to him. He felt himself being lifted up and carried. Was this the end? Was this how it felt to die? Darkness tugged at him and he let himself fall into oblivion.

After what felt like years, Carth awoke. Startled to see durasteel walls and artificial lights, he quickly sat up. A few strands of his brown hair fell over his eyes. He brushed them away and looked around. As he got his bearings, he realized that this was a medical room of a Republic cruiser. _What am I doing on a Republic cruiser? _he thought. He started to get up, but two large brown hands eased him back down.

"Careful, soldier. You're still weak." Carth looked up to see a weathered human face.

"Ulrich?! I thought—" The big man seemed shocked that Carth knew his name.

"That was years ago, Onasi. I thought you'd have forgotten all about me by now especially after Revan's return," Ulrich Rast replied. His blue eyes looked worried for Carth. He grabbed a chair and pulled it around so he could sit and face Carth. "But enough about me for now. You can ask me questions all you want later. What happened to you Carth? How did you end up lying on a beach on a previously unknown world lying next to a couple of handmade graves?"

Carth winced as the memories of the past five years flooded back into his mind. Even though it had all happened so long ago, the events of that one day still were as clear as yesterday. But the pain was unbearable.

"I'd…I'd rather not t-talk about it," he gasped, feeling suddenly cold. Ulrich jumped up, alarmed.

"Carth!" Ulrich yelled. "Hang on buddy, I'll get help!" He dashed from the room.

Carth felt like he was paralyzed from the neck down. Try as he might, he couldn't move his arms or legs. Something appeared in his peripheral vision, but when he turned his head towards it, whatever it was disappeared like a wraith vanishes with a stray gust of wind. There was a bright flash of light. Carth closed his eyes reflexively. When he opened them, he found himself standing in a completely white room. In the middle of it there was a table and two chairs, all white. He had a hard time seeing them because they had a tendency to blend into the surroundings. Looking around, he found himself to be alone. But he had a nagging feeling that all was not as it seemed. He turned back to regard the table. To his shock, there was an elderly man sitting in one of the chairs. His gray hair flew in wisps away from his head and he was clad entirely in a white jumpsuit, immaculate except for the silver cylinder clipped to his belt.

"I see you've noticed my lightsaber Carth." The old man spoke with a hint of humor in his voice. Carth's jaw dropped.

"How did you know my name?" he asked, slightly suspicious.

"Oh, I know a lot about you. Sit down and we'll talk." The man waved at the other chair. Carth sat and turned back to the man. The elderly man was eating from a plate that Carth swore hadn't been there earlier.

"Would you like some? It's quite good and, I assure you, not poisoned," the older man pushed the plate towards Carth.

"Not hungry. Tell me, who are you and where am I? I'm not dead, am I?" Carth asked worriedly. The look in the old man's eyes disturbed him.

The old man chuckled. "Lots of you young people seem to think that when they come here." Carth got even more worried.

"Where is 'here'?"

"Here is not here, rather there, in your mind, put there by the Force. And I am not a real person, just an avatar of one who once was and now is not. I have long since forgotten what I was once called by men, but you may call me Kenrz."

Carth chewed on this bit of nonsense that some would dare to call philosophical. "Right. So where am I?"

Kenrz glared at him. "Have it your way. In layman's terms, you're having a bad dream and I'm in it. Happy?"

"That works. Now, why are you here and what do you want?"

"My my, aren't you the snappy one."

It was Carth's turn to glare. "If you know so much about me, you'll know why I'm like this."

"Of course. But you must learn to trust again. That's why I'm here. To help you regain the trust you lost when Revan betrayed you and the rest of the Galaxy."

"So what you're telling me is that the Force is calling on me to learn how to trust people again, so I can be a hero and save the Galaxy from a gruesome fate at the hands of Darth Revan?"

Kenrz smiled, "Exactly."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Bastila, consort to the most evil Darth Revan, was pissed off. The Dark Lady was always angry about something, but today she was in a really bad mood.

"_YERZHA!!!!_" This outburst, fueled by the Force, knocked a rare Dantooinian vase off a nearby table and shattered not a few mirrors and windows. The object of Bastila's wrath cringed in a corner, trying in vain to become one with the wall. Bastila reached out with the Force and Yerzha began to rise off of the ground. The juvenile Amanaman gave a small squeak.

"Yerzha, why did you do this to one of my apprentices?" She held up the severed head of a young female human. The eyes were wide open in shock and the skin was in the advanced stages of rotting. Bastila tightened her Force grip.

"Yerzha…Yerzha sorry…milady…she…she was so…vulnerable…please do not kill Yerzha…" the Amanaman begged pathetically. Bastila gave an exasperated sigh. This overgrown planarian could be so single-minded in its quest to prove its worth by attaching human heads to its spear. She released her grip on the Maridun native and summoned a Sith guard.

"Educate this worm in the ways of a civilized being…again." She turned with a swish of her long hair as she went in search of a replacement apprentice.

That which glitters is not all that it seems. The same holds true for the city-planet Coruscant. Beneath all the glamour and glitz of the upper city where the Jedi and Senators dwell is squalor to put all forms of slums and poverty to shame. For down under the towering edifices is a wasteland of criminals, outcasts, and people who just plain don't want to be noticed. Drake Pharr really didn't want to be noticed, especially by the authorities. There were holograms of him in every corner of the Galaxy proclaiming him to be the worst crook and murderer in the Galaxy. However, according to Drake, he was neither criminal nor killer. Okay, so he had robbed a few cantinas and won a few fight-to-the-death duels, but he didn't kill in cold blood. However, that differed from what the authorities said. They posted him as the one who assassinated the planetary governor of Corellia. It was preposterous! He had been all the way over on Korriban, light-years away from Corellia when it happened. What he'd been doing on the Sith Academy world wasn't exactly legal either, but the Republic lauded unlawful acts against the Sith Empire.

Presently, he hit the floor as he dodged a blaster bolt. Bounty hunters like this guy were getting to be a nuisance.

"Hey! Watch where you point that thing? Can't we just forget about our troubles and buy a couple drinks?" There was no answer. Drake peeked through a smoking hole in the table he was ducked behind. The bounty hunter was nowhere in sight. _Not good,_ he thought. Taking his blaster out of its holster, he slowly stood up. A tentacled head peered at him from behind the cantina bar.

"The bounty hunter ran when some of the patrons got fed up with the blaster bolts flying all over the place," the Quarren barkeeper explained. "In fact, they don't like it that you're attracting these bounty hunters. They'd appreciate it if you left."

"Hey, I'm just trying to get a drink," Drake explained. The Quarren shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but when these two say go away, you'd better go away." He motioned behind Drake. Drake turned around and looked up. In front of him was a very tall and very annoyed Wookiee. His brown fur was ritually decorated, as were his bandolier and bowcaster.

"So, this is the great Drake Pharr, alleged killer of the poor governor of Corellia," said a female voice. A young human woman appeared from behind the Wookiee.

"Hey, I didn't do it! I swear—" Drake protested.

"Has anyone ever told you that you say 'hey' too much?" the woman interrupted him. Drake stood there.

"Er…"

"Whatever," the woman said exasperatedly. "The name's Tracy Skyhander and this is my sidekick—" there was a growl from the Wookiee "—Zarbacca." Zarbacca grunted loudly. Drake replied in the Wookiee language of Shyriiwook. Both Tracy and Zarbacca were astonished.

"You speak his language?!" Tracy asked, indicating the Wookiee. Drake nodded.

"I've been able to speak it ever since I was a little kid," he replied. He turned to Zarbacca.

So, what's up, fuzzball? he asked in Shyriiwook. Zarbacca glared at him with murder in his eyes. Tracy stepped between them.

"Okay, buddy, I don't know what you said, but when Zarbacca gets that look, that means time for you to leave." She pushed Drake out the door.

On his way out the door, Drake tripped on a metal post and landed face-first on the durasteel walkway. Rubbing his chin, he got up.

"Man, how come every time I meet a hot chick, she has some big, mean bodyguard who doesn't like me?" he grumbled to himself. He didn't see the Republic officer walking towards him.

"Sir, sir!" the officer called. Drake turned, mildly taken aback to be addressed by an officer of the Republic. The surprise was replaced by fear that he'd been found out. He kept his cool and waited for the man to catch up.

"Sir," the officer said, slightly out of breath. "You dropped this." He held up a 1000 credit chip. Drake's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His instinct told him to take the money and run, but his honesty (what little of it he had) made him not want to accept it since it wasn't his.

"This isn't mine," he said. The officer looked at him.

"Of course it is, sir. I saw you drop it on your way out of the cantina." Drake grasped what had happened. Or what must have happened. He remembered Tracy pushing him out the door. She must have pushed the thousand-credit chip out with him. But why? No matter. Money is money.

"Oh, now I remember. Thanks, er, lieutenant." He took the 1000 credit chip. The lieutenant saluted him and walked off. Drake stood there wondering why the officer hadn't arrested him. He looked down. Realization dawned on him. He was still wearing the Republic captain's uniform he had been using to con people. With a smile on his lips, he straightened up, smoothed his uniform, and strode away through the crowd.


End file.
